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Registration date : 1969-12-31

PostSubject: Ramblings   Mon 22 Oct - 19:31

This is from a book I'm writing, so steal it and you DIEEEEE!

What is it about these names that causes us either to swoon or to cower in fear? This name, Achilles, how is it that his name holds so much power over me? Or, what about God? How is it that His name can inspire so many people? What is the importance of names?

Most of all, I wonder, who -is- Achilles? Or, rather, who was he? Was he real, or was he simply a character in the world-famous, Iliad?

It is my belief that he did exist, although not exactly as how Homer depicted him. Achilles likely was not half god, though it is possible that his mother was a seer or a prophet, since we have those in today's society. Also, Achilles was not immortal, and when people ask about how he could have died from a simple wound to his ankle, remember that back thousands of years ago, in his time, technology like ours did not exist. A number of things could have happened; the wound could have gotten infected, he could have bled to death or he might have been stabbed the arrow struck. Or, it could be metaphoric.

My relationship with Achilles is different from the typical slav--er, um, servant-god relationships. For one, I studied Achilles on my own instead of believing everything a priest told me. Another thing that separates us from those type of religious relationships is that I don't depend on him to solve all of my life's problems ormake everything perfect. I often see people beg God to "give" them money or get them out of situations. And then, when their gods haven't solved everything for them, they blame their problems on their God/gods.

But Achilles and I are not like that. Although he and I have our problems, when I begin to doubt him, he knows that I am only doubting myself. Although my life is far from perfect, I know that Achilles is helping me, but not directly. He helps me to help myself.

If I fall down, he is not going to materialize from out of nowhere or fall to earth from the heavens and say, "Oh, are you all right, sweetie? Here, let me pick you up. My, my, you look hungry. Here's a cookie!"

He is not going to pick me up if I fall down. He won't give me food if I'm hungry or money if I ask for it or a blanket if I'm cold. He will not baby me. The only time he will ever help me directly is in a dream.

There was one night that I was afraid and hurt. I cried and was unable to sleep--the pillow was drenched with tears. The pain in my heart was too much to bear, I could feel myself falling, falling down a black pit, filled with agonizing memories and screams and visions of torture.

And then, it came to me.

Out of the darkness came the tall figure, the figure of a broad, muscular man with golden hair and piercing sapphire eyes. Achilles whispered something to me, something I don't remember know. And then, he gathered me into his arms, holding me close to his body.

I sighed gratefully and rested my head against his chest, over his heart, the soothing sound of it drumming against my ear and cheek. We stayed like that for a few moments, until I shifted to lay my head on his arm.

The smooth skin and hard muscle felt odd, but comforting. My tears dried and I closed my eyes, taking in the smell of steel and sweat that was eerily soothing. I was able to sleep at last, and just as the whispers of cruelty and flashes of nightmares began to enter my mind, the sword and shield of Achilles drove them way.
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